


The Story of Rononlocks and the Three Atlantians

by Zoe Rayne (MontanaHarper)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crack, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-13
Updated: 2005-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Zoe%20Rayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Once upon a time there was a big hunk of macho manliness named Specialist Ronon Dex, though his friends called him Rononlocks because of his stylin' dreads.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Story of Rononlocks and the Three Atlantians

Once upon a time there was a big hunk of macho manliness named Specialist Ronon Dex, though his friends called him Rononlocks because of his stylin' dreads. Many years before the start of our story, he had been captured by the Wraith, implanted with a tracking device, and released back into the wild to be ~~observed by their scientists~~ hunted like a dog for the sheer sport of it.

Obviously, this made Rononlocks a little cranky, because it really sucks when all your new friends inevitably become Wraith snacks.

One day Rononlocks was having a nice, quiet jog through the Ring of the Ancestors—keeping his eyes open for Wraith and hoping to find the Pegasus equivalent of a McDonald's, because he was more than a little tired of living like the Pegasus equivalent of Grizzly Adams—when he stumbled across the Floating City of the Ancestors.

He called out, but no one answered, so he walked right through the city without a second thought, looking for that elusive McDonald's, or at least something he didn't have to skin and gut before he could eat it.

After a few minutes, he found the mess hall. All the tables were bare but one; on that one table there were three bowls of an unidentified gray lumpy substance that looked more appetizing than a handful of senala beetles, but only a little. He took a spoonful from the first bowl, but it was too hot and burned his tongue. Furious, Rononlocks flung the bowl across the room, where it splattered satisfyingly against the wall.

Cautiously, he took a spoonful from the second bowl, but it was too cold and tasted like congealed tempu paste, so he spat it back into the bowl. He eyed the third bowl and wondered if it was actually worth trying. Then his stomach growled and he picked up the spoon despite his misgivings.

The contents of the third bowl turned out to be the best thing Rononlocks had ever tasted, and he quickly shoveled them into his mouth, completely ignoring everything about politeness that his mother had taught him when he was small. There was no room for politeness when you were being chased by Wraith and starving to death, after all.

His stomach started to hurt as soon as he'd finished eating, and he realized that maybe there was a reason—other than politeness—that his mother had warned him against eating too fast. Wrapping both arms across his belly, he sat down in the nearest chair, but it was far too Spartan for his tastes. He shifted over to the next chair, but it was just too ornate, what with the filigree and the crystal panels that looked like they might glow blue if given half a chance.

Finally, he gave in and scooted over to the third chair, which turned out to be absolutely perfect. He relaxed and leaned back to wait for his meal to digest, but as soon as he moved, the chair splintered into a thousand pieces and he found himself on his ass on the floor.

This was not a position that Rononlocks liked to be in, as a general rule.

He was beginning to think maybe he was safer on some uninhabited forest planet, running from the Wraith, instead of being in this strange city full of food and furniture (and possibly other 'f' things, but he hadn't made a full survey yet) that was all wrong. But he was tired—very, very tired, actually—and maybe he could find a place to have a quick nap before he ventured back through the Ring of the Ancestors.

The first room he found was beautiful, decorated in warm shades that reminded him of his home. He smiled and lay down on the bed, but he couldn't relax because the bed seemed even harder than the ground he was used to sleeping on, if that were even possible.

So he dragged himself back out of the bed and into the next room down the corridor. This room was odder than the other, with a man's image decorating the wall above the bed. Still, Rononlocks didn't care about the room's owner or their lack of interior decorating skills; he just cared about sleep. This bed, though, was too soft. It was a bed for a little girl or a pampered princess, not for a warrior, and so once again he stood and went in search of the perfect sleeping surface.

The third room had many pieces of paper on the walls, each covered in what appeared to be writing. Deciding that this was to be his last attempt, he first sat and then reclined on the bed. It was perfect. The mattress was neither too hard nor too soft, but was, instead, the most wonderful surface he could remember having beneath his body—and that included the hours he'd spent on top of Elanda Jof, who was a pretty remarkable surface.

Relaxing, he finally allowed himself to fall asleep.

While he was sleeping, though, a great ship hovered above the city and hundreds of people began appearing throughout her corridors.

In the mess hall, Teyla looked at her bowl of oatmeal. "Someone has taken a violent dislike to my breakfast," she said, frowning at the wall.

"Eew," said John. "Looks like someone spit in mine. Gross."

A panicked look crossed Rodney's face, and he picked up his bowl. "Someone ate mine. I should have known; you can't leave anything around here without an armed guard. Of course, even if you _had_ an armed guard, they'd probably be the ones who would eat it. I'm going to starve to death; I can already feel the dizziness."

As Teyla was casting about herself for something to say to distract Rodney from his incessant whining, which was actually beginning to push the bounds of her seemingly endless patience, she noticed that her chair was turned twelve degrees from how she had left it. "Someone has been sitting in my chair," she said, straightening it out so it was once again perfectly aligned with the table.

John touched his chair, which cried out to him, a soft voice in his head bemoaning the violation of having been host to someone without the ATA gene. "Yeah, here too."

"Oh, for…." Rodney said. "Is it too much to ask that you don't touch things that don't belong to you? I mean, it's simple politeness, people. This is my chair. It's _been_ my chair since we came to Atlantis. And now? Now it's kindling. Thank you so much."

John smiled indulgently at Rodney. "I'm about ready for bed, I think," he said with a little waggle of his eyebrows that Rodney couldn't possibly miss.

For that matter, neither could anyone else in the mess, and there was a general grumbling that moved around the room until one voice said, soft but clear, "Oh for God's sake, will you two just get a room?" But Teyla and John and Rodney were already nearly to the door, so it was easy for them to pretend that they hadn't heard.

They came to Teyla's room first, and paused in the doorway to wish her goodnight. She smiled at them, and then frowned as she looked at her pillow, which was flattened a quarter of an inch more than it should have been. "Someone has been sleeping in my bed," she said.

"Congratulations," John said, grinning at her.

"And please don't hesitate not to tell us about it," Rodney added, turning away.

The next room was John's, so he went inside first to make sure Sergeant Bates wasn't hiding in the closet, waiting to jump out and take digital photos of John and Rodney _in flagrante delicto_ (which is French for "fucking," a fact that John would never admit to knowing because it didn't fit in with the image of a dumb grunt that he was trying to project). Bates was trying to get John court-martialed so he could have John's job, which was, in all fairness, a nicer way to go about it than what John had done, what with the shooting his boss through the heart and all.

"Hey," John said, spotting the huge dents in his fluffy pillow and blankets, "someone's been sleeping in my bed."

At this, Rodney turned and walked away, muttering under his breath about Captain Kirk and dubious morals and space herpes, causing John to chase after him.

"I didn't mean _with me_ ," John explained, and his tone may have been just a little bit pleading because Rodney could do things with his mouth that John had only ever dreamed of before. "Someone's been sleeping in my bed while we were gone."

"Great," Rodney said. "Now you've got a stalker. I'll bet it's Beckett. He's always seemed a little too eager to get you out of your clothes and up onto his examining table. Or maybe it's Zelenka, the little weasel. I'll bet he overheard you saying you thought accents were sexy."

By this time they'd reached Rodney's room, the door opening automatically because John was there and Atlantis _liked_ John. Plus, it had been a really long time since Atlantis had had sex happening inside her and she was kind of feeling slutty at the moment.

Rodney stopped dead and John crashed into him. Eyes wide, Rodney turned to John and stage whispered, "Just when I think that I've reached the limits of the lack of personal respect of the people on this mission, I come home to find that some extraordinarily hirsute man has decided my bed is the perfect place for a nap. That's just great. Now where are we going to go? Because I am _so_ not getting into a threesome with you and Mr. Tall Dark and Furry over there."

John pouted at that, because from where he was standing Rononlocks looked pretty hot and he'd always wanted to watch Rodney going at it with another guy. When Rodney failed to cave immediately, John threw the puppy-dog eyes into the equation; he knew the puppy-dog eyes were Rodney's one weakness.

As usual, it worked.

"Okay, fine, fine," Rodney whispered. "But you get to proposition him, because I make it a rule not to come on to guys who could snap me in half like a twig. You may not think much of my physique, but this is the only body I've got and I've grown attached to it over the years."

John grinned and went to wake up the sleeping Rononlocks, and they all lived pornily ever after.


End file.
